


First Times

by mneiai



Category: Invincible (TV) (2001)
Genre: Ancient Rome, Canon - TV Movie, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Pre-Canon, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adjusting to Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Times

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/invincibleslash/1545.html#cutid1).

When Os finally fought up through the excruciating pain of his punishment, he thought he had been trapped in darkness. After a few moments he realized that, no, he had simply been given eyelids over eyes which, when opened, saw things in colors and shapes that were entirely alien to him. Once he figured out seeing (and closing his eyes not to see), he worked on other movements, shifting here and there where he was lying, until he finally managed to sit up and glance around him.

He was in a desert which stretched as far as his eyes could see, though he thankfully could still _feel_ farther than that. Around him were other forms, dark and light, doing their own explorations of their new bodies. His mind was still shocked, unable to reach out to the others, but he desperately wanted to know who was there--there should have been more, but maybe they were over across one of the dunes, or on another part of the planet. He refused to worry.

Os opened his mouth and let out a soft sound, repeating the motion over and over again, trying to form words. The body he was in seemed physically incapable of the languages he knew, which caused him an odd rush of uncertainty.

After a time (and the way he felt time, now, was also unfamiliar, it seemed to stretch out before him, but go by too quickly), he stood, wobbling back and forth on his feet. Steps were more complicated than he thought they would be, but soon he was walking up to the top of the dune, staring out over the odd vastness of this small section of the Earth.

There was no one else on the other side, the handful of Shadowmen he had woken near were the only ones there. He sat, though the movement happened more because his legs gave out from under him than because of a desire to do so. Closing his eyes, blocking out the odd way that the light around him seemed solid and the molecules in the air disturbingly invisible, he tried to arrange his thoughts in a way that would let him reach out through them.

No one reached back. Most of the others, the ones he could see, were still trying to stand, maybe out there in some other landscape there were more of them who had yet to adjust as much as Os had. He kept repeating that, breathing softly and ignoring the fact that the words he formed could not be heard.

***

The human body he was in was limited and thus limited his abilities. He was confined to a small range of his powers--his telepathy and telekinesis slowly recovered, while his ability to travel through and dwell upon the astral plane gave him some of the range he had previously exercised.

He didn't know where the others wandered off to, but he found his way to a human city, pulling the knowledge of their language and culture from the minds of the humans he brushed by on the busy streets. The basics were not complicated, were similar to what he had seen in various other solar systems, though he had never before cared about the details.

Stealing currency in various ways, he bought a dwelling and more suitable clothing, then waited.

Os didn't know what he was expecting, but once he had seen to his survival he had run out of actions to take. He went out at night and killed, sometimes, watching the terror on the faces of his victims, running his hands through the thick blood they spewed forth from his cleverly placed wounds. It wasn't enough, he wanted to bring down the whole city, the entire continent, make them feel as displaced as he was.

He learned what the human body was good for--there were more than enough actual humans who were interested in showing him the secrets to their physical pleasure. Running through their perversions, he wondered if he could start to enjoy his life chained to a backwater planet, as long as he had these delicious physical reactions to wring from his new form.

Giving up on his nightly hunts, he threw himself into the search for greater and greater orgasms, associating with more humans as his needs grew. He knew, on some level, that he was attempting to fill in some emptiness that haunted him, but he pushed those thoughts into the back of his mind and locked them away, they were needlessly distracting.

Slate found him during an orgy, with a man behind him and a woman under him, his eyes rolling back from the intensity of the sex. When they locked eyes across the room, Os knew immediately who he was looking at and that, more than anything else, made him finally lose control and come into the pliant body he was fucking.

After extricating himself from the pile he'd been in, he stumbled towards Slate, unsure how to great the first of his own kind that he had seen in over a century. In silence, he pulled Slate through a series of doors, out into a little-used courtyard where none would interrupt them.

"All this time, I had thought you had been lost. Or perhaps that you managed to talk your way out of our punishment and were playing the good little pet to one of our jailors, biding your time." Slate's eyes roved over Os' body and Os could make out the by now familiar look of hunger, but also one of disgust. "Instead I find you cavorting with the humans, _reveling_ in them, as if seduced by these flesh sacks that have been forced upon us."

Os was too distracted by the form of the words themselves to care about what Slate was saying--they bounced around his head, dousing out the blinding lights from the human thoughts around them. He hadn't felt another use telepathy in so long he had forgotten how familiar it would feel. It was like a caress, even when filled with revulsion.

When Os did not reply, instead standing there with his eyes locked on Slate, a look of wonderment on his face, the other relaxed. "Oh, Os, you truly have been lost, haven't you?"

That would be the first time Slate dragged Os away from Rome.

***

Slate, who for some reason had always bothered to be _organized_, had gathered up other Shadowmen, using his ability to adjust to his human form to force them into submissive positions they would have never taken in the past. When he returned with a subdued Os, the others suddenly found themselves more accepting of Slate's leadership--if Os was willing to let Slate lead him, then they could be, too.

Os also found out that Slate had been focused on escaping from the moment he regained his wits--the building he was using as a home base was littered with artifacts and writings connected to the various mythologies the humans followed, objects of power and destruction. Slate had yet to find what would free them, but he was convinced that such a device existed.

He had not, not ever, experimented with what his body had to offer him. What use did he have to human pleasure when he longed for the ecstasy of watching stars explode, taking out the planets around them, of gleefully collapsing entire galaxies into the black holes around which they rotated?

The knowledge distracted Os. In between his own searches for what would bring free them from the planet, he would stare at Slate, watching the way he moved his body through the air as if every motion had a larger purpose, the way his hands gripped something, the way his eyes flashed with emotions foreign to the form he had.

Slate knew, of course. He played off Os' infatuation, giving him orders that would have meant an epic fight only a few centuries before, that might have ended in Os tearing down a solar system around Slate, picking him apart atom by atom until Slate couldn't reform himself and was left floating like so much dust throughout the universe. Os just did what Slate said, though, throwing out a sarcastic comment or rolling his eyes, but still going off to whatever mountain top or cannibal island he was told about, because he knew someday Slate would get curious and Os was going to be right there waiting.

It admittedly took more time than he thought it would (or less, he was still, even after a millennium, not used to telling time the way planet-bound beings were). But one day he was fiddling with someone's ribcage and Slate walked in, breaking the human's neck with a flick of his fingers, then dragging them down Os' cheek.

No words were spoken, not when Os stripped the clothing from Slate's body and learned the lean lines of his frame, and especially not when his lips closed around Slate's member, bringing him off in such a short period of time that he might have suffered second hand embarrassed, if he hadn't come into his own hand seconds later.

Whenever they saw each other after that, Slate had something new he wanted to try. He raped the minds of the most lascivious humans he could come across, wanting to take full advantage of Os' body, wanting to see him writhe and scream. Os was surprisingly okay with that.


End file.
